


Maybe... Just Maybe

by Miss_Paws



Category: Traitor Game - B. R. Collins
Genre: Cold, Fluff, M/M, snow ball fights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:18:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7899553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Paws/pseuds/Miss_Paws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No.” Michael repeated after the tenth time. He will not, would not, and shall not do what Francis was just begging him for. He didn’t want to, he will never want to, and nothing will change his bloody mind</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe... Just Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! My first time actually posting anything here. I've done... a lot on fanfiction.net, but not anymore. Also my first time posting fanfiction... in maybe a year? Dunno.  
> I also haven't read the book in a few years (I'm in the process of rereading it) so the boys might be a little OC...  
> Also, if you like, you can give me a few suggestions of what you would like me to write, because there needs to be more stories of these two!  
> Hope you like it!  
> \- Miss Paws

It was a cold winter that year, with snow falling just about every week and leaving behind piles that were shoved to the sides of roads and sidewalks. Michael hated it. He wasn’t fond at all of the cold, hated the itchy feelings of scarves and wool hats, but was forced to endure it just so he wouldn’t freeze to death. Francis, was another story. Michael couldn’t understand how he loved the cold, and somehow, even the snow. It was beyond him. How could someone love something that made you go numb? It didn’t make sense in the least! While Michael preferred to stay inside (more than usual, that is) and sit covered in any warm blanket he could find, Francis took to the snow. And because of that, Michael usually found himself hit with a snowball in an attempt of a snowball fight. He never caved. He would always just scowl at him and march inside, waiting until Francis finally got some sense and also left the cold beyond for warmth.  
“Come on,” Francis whined from his bed. They were taking a break from Arcaster today in favor of doing something else, which Michael had yet to know what it was. Him and Francis were just lounging around his room, him at his desk and Francis lying sprawled on the bed. It was Francis’s idea, and he was okay with doing something else, as long as it wasn’t that.   
“No.” Michael repeated after the tenth time. He will not, would not, and shall not do what Francis was just begging him for. He didn’t want to, he will never want to, and nothing will change his bloody mind.   
“It’s just a bit of snow.” Francis said, earning a glare from Michael.   
“Just a bit of snow?” Michael repeated, gesturing out his window and at the snow that covered just about everything. “That’s not just a bit of snow.” Michael picked up a pen just to fiddle with it as Francis groaned.   
“We don’t have to be out for long.” he tried, sitting up and crossing his legs. Michael almost scoffed at that.  
“A second is far too long.” he muttered just loud enough for Francis to hear. There was a little grumbling from him, before Francis continued on persuading him.   
“Come on, just one little snow ball fight and we’ll be back inside before you know it.” Michael looked over at him to see that Francis was staring at him intensely. Michael knew that he wouldn’t be able to get Francis off his back, so he hesitantly agreed. Francis smiled brightly at him as he bolted off the bed. Michael sat there for a moment longer before he grudgingly followed.   
He amused Francis with the little snowball fight, trying his best to ignore the itchy scarf and hat. Finally, Francis said they could stop just when Michael felt his fingers go painfully numb and his nose feeling like it was just about to fall off his face.   
After they shed their extra clothing and Michael’s itchy scarf and hat, they both sat on the couch wrapped in a blanket with some tea watching something random on the TV.   
“Hey,” Michael looked over at Francis as he set down his mug on the coffee table. “Thanks for the snowball fight, Thompson.” Michael felt red flush his cheeks, and not just from the cold when Francis smiled.   
“No problem, Harris.” Michael muttered as he turned back to the TV screen with cheeks that might just be a little redder.   
Maybe… the cold wasn’t too bad. Maybe, Michael cold learn to tolerate itchy hats and scarfs along with numb fingers. Just… Maybe…


End file.
